When do the limits truly break,
And when does the eye become the mind?
I suppose it is up to you.

When I catch a droplet of inspiration,
to sketch out some idea conjured of mine,
such is a spark of creation,
When compared-
creativity to reality,
this "acid free" "medium surface"
sketch paper renders ones thoughts so minuscule,
Leashed down,
like a young pup to a tree,
my ability can only bring me so far...

When I was young, I wanted to learn how to fly.
                                    Until I broke my arm in doing so.
                                     I gave up that ambition afterwards.

When I was young, I wanted to a princess.
                                    Until I realized that; princesses weren't poor.
                                    But I was.

When I was young, I believed that dreams were for everyone.
                                  Until one day I finally understood that dreams
                                  are for the rich and reality is for the poor.

When I was young I believed that love would make all my pain go away.
                                    Until I endured heartbreak,
                                    which shattered my dignity away.

When I was young, I used to believe that words
were made for those who can express themselves through them.

Until I encountered the fact that they are no words to express my dullness,
there are no words to explain my pain,
and there are certainly no words to define my worries.
There are only words to describe my limits.

Ussse Allah sE khof Araha tha bepanah khof wo kiTna
taqatwar tha Kia nahi kr skta tha wo kitna meharban tha Kia
NI krTa tha insan ko insan rakhna USSE atta tha kbhi Gazab
se Kabhi ahsan se wo usse us k daire me hi rakhta tha

Staring into the limitless
An infinite spectrum of qualities
Devoted to expressing the duplicitous nature of divinity
To construct reality to hold both fabrication and purity at such equal esteem perplexes the pieces that perceive the local frame for such a minuscule amount of time and yet it binds the boundaries of evolution, attaching string after string, until every good thing becomes muddled and unclear
Not from hatred, nor fear or depravity
But from the tumultuous distinctions made when a pattern found itself being in rear to itself
And then it finds it's equilibrium once the fluidity of origin reverts attention from every intention muscled from the nudge of inner tranquility
They code or key in the magic of three
Nature begets life begets virtue to enlighten the majesty

am i not*       .                    ..
        .                         ....       .          
              allowed
    ..                                ..­             ...
       to love    ..              ...
                     ...                 without
              ...
    ......             consequence?
         ..
...